"An old train," Devero insists again, stubbornly. He stares at it through his Interface's eyescreen, moving one of his hands through the connection routine that should link him up to the transport local and public local networks.

Except there are no networks registering to his Interface's scanners. No networks, and none of the little pingpoints that should indicate the Interfaces of the other people he can see intermittently as the mist drifts and swirls.

He looks down at this kid beside him, and for the first time it really starts to sink in that there is something profoundly strange happening here. "Are you not bothered by this?" he asks, quiet and a little disbelieving. He's so flooded with adrenaline that he feels like he could box an exo bare-handed.